


D-22

by beta_19



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Citadel of Ricks, Gen, dad Rick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 15:43:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8167283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beta_19/pseuds/beta_19
Summary: (This started out as a joke, and now it’s all downhill from here.)Rick of Dimension D-22 is from a timeline where he became a single dad. Raising Beth by himself had its hardships, but between them it was Rick and Beth forever, for a hundred years. As a result, Beth never met Jerry Smith, and neither Summer or Morty were born.However, the Citadel of Ricks is keen on protecting their own. So where a Rick lacks a Morty, he gets assigned one that doesn't have a Rick... whether they like it or not.





	1. The Fuck is This

Thankfully the lineup wasn’t all that long, but the fact that there was a lineup was distressing in itself. 

There was always a bit of a line inside the appropriately-named Placement Centre, no more than seven or eight Ricks long, tops. But when Rick D-22 realized there was a waiting room beyond the processing lobby, that’s when it hit him.

There were a loooot of Ricks without a Morty.

It was depressing, for the most part. Some of the Ricks, still fresh in their grief, were slumped in their chairs with a flask in hand, gazing dully at the walls or at the TV screens placed strategically around the waiting room. There were more than a few puffy eyes and sullen expressions, some more bitter than others, and at least one Rick looked vaguely shell-shocked. Not all of them were red-eyed with sorrow, however. The odd Rick or two were positively excited as they chattered with other Ricks, but most were calm, even bored as they flipped through magazines or scrolled on their mobile devices.

Rick D-22 glanced over at the front counter. Paired Ricks with their Mortys were bustling about with clipboards and digital paperwork. The fact that the Placement Centre was busy made D-22 feel vaguely nauseous for reasons he didn’t care to explore.

Still, he was here. 

The Council had contacted him first, citing something about Morty-waves or some other ridiculousness that D-22 was quick to dismiss. Apparently he was one of a number of Ricks whose realities had developed without a Morty, whom D-22 learned was supposed to be his grandson in a majority of C-designated realities. The idea of a family did not interest D-22 in the slightest, much less one advanced enough to include grandchildren, and he’d made that clear when the Council presented him with some kind of Rick-Protection Protocol that, again, D-22 deleted without reading.

I don’t need to be saddled with some kid, he’d told them firmly. I like my life the way it is without the burden of an entire human life flung at me like I’m supposed to care.

The Council made note of his request, and would contact him again later.

And so, several months and ignored emails later, D-22 showed up at the Placement Centre out of boredom, just to see what the fuss was all about. This Morty kid was, what, fourteen? In a yellow shirt and jeans, kind of dumb-looking, mostly stupid, but oddly loyal and fairly obedient, which D-22 appreciated. He didn’t know much about kids and even less about teenagers, only that they were messy, unruly, and usually other people’s problems. Instinctively he sought out similarities between the Mortys and their Ricks, initially in appearance, of which there were few: they often were the same long, skinny build, but that was about it. Then D-22 subconsciously made note of personality and behavioural similarities, but there wasn’t enough evidence to be gathered by a single day’s observation alone despite the generous sample population present at the Citadel.

Besides, D-22 wasn’t here for that. It wasn’t that he was here to pick up a Morty like he would a puppy at an adoption centre. He just wanted to see what the Mortys were like. And so far, he’d been unimpressed.

But like Ricks, not all Mortys were the same, he’d observed. There were fish-Ricks with their fish-Mortys, weird willowy moon-Ricks with their freakishly tall moon-Mortys, and there was that orange cyclops-Rick with his equally orange cyclops Morty, both of whom just seemed to loiter at the Citadel all the time for no apparent reason. Then again, none of the Ricks here needed a reason. This was the Citadel of Ricks.

So despite his misgivings about the whole Morty thing, Rick D-22 had every intention of rejecting whatever the Council’s exchange program had to offer. It would be easy: just say, ‘I’ve changed my mind,’ about-face, and go home. Indifference was first nature to a Rick.

D-22 debated on whether or not he would even wait out the lineup, given the roomful of Mortyless Ricks that appeared to be ahead of him on the roster. But even as he stood there in mid-thought, shoulders slouched, hands in his lab coat pockets, one hand idly tapping a finger on his flask in said pocket, a Morty’s voice rumpled awkwardly through the overhead PA system.

“Number, uhh... uh, 74? Num-number 74?” 

No one got up. 

D-22 turned around to head for the exit only to find another Morty standing right behind him, clipboard in hand. It was the same one he’d spoken to before being directed to the waiting room.

“Hey Rick,” the Morty said, tone casual. “Y-you’ve got the voucher on you?”

“Uh, listen, I changed my mind,” Rick began as he automatically fished the little paper coupon out of his pocket. “I-I don’t think--”

“Oh yep, you’re at the top of the list,” the Morty said brightly, eyes on the coupon as he plucked it from Rick’s fingers.

Rick’s eyes narrowed. Cocky, these brats.

He let his irritation slide as the Morty beckoned for him to follow him down a brief corridor. There were closed doors on all sides, each door with a number on it -- 204, 205, etc. -- and no windows. So they kept the introductions private, D-22 noted. He wondered how much disappointment those walls had seen.  
Finally, at 214, the Morty stopped and knocked briefly before turning the door handle. The room inside looked similar to the waiting room: carpeted in inoffensively grey synthetic berber, leather armchairs, a low coffee table, a water cooler with paper cones in the corner. 

Wordlessly the Morty stepped aside and invited D-22 to make himself comfortable. No mess, no fuss, but a little sterile. Everything about the room felt temporary.

“A-a counsellor will be by shortly!” the Morty beamed, and before Rick could turn back around and protest again, the clipboard Morty had vanished from the doorway.

With the door left open, Rick seriously contemplated disappearing himself. It wasn’t like anyone was going to stop him from leaving, either. As much as the Council pushed to ensure every Rick had the protection of a Morty, they also understood that Ricks weren’t keen on being pressured to do anything. Of course they understood. They were Ricks.

Portal gun in hand, Rick took a side-step away from the doorway to face the nearest blank wall when he was stopped, not by a hand or a Guard Rick, but by the sound of clicking coming up the hallway. It had a sort of businesslike, rapid rhythm to it, the kind of pace that made Rick wonder what the hell kind of alien skittered around like that, but just as he raised his portal gun, suddenly another Rick poked his head into the open doorway.

“Yeah, totally called it,” the Rick said, his tone deadpan. “Y-you’re the skittish Rick. I’m glad I got here sooner than later.”

Irritation darkened D-22′s features again as he lowered his portal gun and turned to give the intruding Rick a flat glare. “A nick name? Seriously?”

“Hey, take it easy, pal. S’not a bad thing, having a moniker,” the Rick said with a shrug. “Anyway, I won’t waste your time any more than I have to. Here’s your Morty. C’mere, Morty.”

The Placement Rick stepped into the room first, and then moved aside and waited. There was an air of suspended anticipation as a few awkward seconds ticked by. Both Ricks in the room stared at the doorway, one more intently than the other. Unaware of his own tension, D-22 was holding his breath.

Once the awkwardness passed into positive delay, the Placement Rick carefully knelt down and patted one knee, all the while keeping his gaze at the doorway. “C’mere, Morty,” he said again in a slightly higher tone, in an attempt to sound more encouraging. “It’s okay. He won’t bite.”

D-22 was still holding his breath as a little dog crept cautiously into the room. It had short stubby legs, but it was long-bodied and orange-coloured with a white muzzle, big pointy ears, a foxy little face, and little squat, white paws, and--

“You gotta be kidding me.”

D-22 glanced up and gave the Placement Rick an accusing look.

“This is J-84-Theta Morty,” the Placement Rick replied with a smirk. He then tilted his head down to the dog -- a Welsh Pembroke corgi, D-22 noted automatically. 

“Morty, this is Rick from dimension D-22,” the Placement Rick went on, addressing the dog. “He’s kinda new to this, just like you, kid.”

“The fuck is this?” In his disbelief, D-22′s voice rose a notch. “I-I mean, yeah, nice try with the, the, the fucking yellow T-shirt, but I really don’t think you’re selling it here.”

The dog, who really was wearing a little dog-sized yellow T-shirt, whined and lowered its head, its comically big, pointy ears drooping down on either side of its face. 

The scowl D-22 directed at the dog was unrelenting. The dog quickly averted its gaze and slunk over to hide behind the Placement Rick’s legs.

“He’s a Morty,” the Placement Rick repeated, folding his arms. “His DNA checks out. Well, at least, for his dimension. He counts.”

D-22 scowled. “The fuck am I supposed to do with a dog,” he drawled out, arms flapping down to his sides in exasperation.

“Hey, don’t knock ‘im til you’ve tried him out,” the Placement Rick said with a faint smile. “Never mind how he looks, he’s still a Morty. He’s just a Morty who also happens to be a dog. T-try not to hurt his feelings.”

“Yeah, like any of us give a fuck about what anyone thinks,” D-22 growled, this time aiming his portal gun properly at the wall. “Fuck this noise, I’m out.”

The portal gun spat out a bright green flash that splashed upon the wall into the form of a wobbly, spinning portal. Without a second thought, D-22 stepped into the gently rotating spiral.

Had he lingered just half a second longer, he would have heard the placement Rick say to the dog at his feet: 

“Last chance! Go get ‘im, Morty!”

The dog hesitated, ears folded folded back, his little moist brown eyes wide as he gazed up at the Placement Rick.

The Placement Rick motioned at the shrinking portal with a tip of his chin. 

The small corgi suddenly dashed out from behind the Rick’s legs and leapt into the light just as the portal spun in on itself and winked out of sight.


	2. It Followed Me Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marriage was a bullet Rick dodged early on, but he ended up taking on a different kind of life sentence: he became a single father. Raising Beth had been a hairy first experience fraught with the usual dangers of child rearing, but with an added dash of alien space battles and exposure to every intergalactic felony in print. Yet despite the unique trauma Beth turned out fine, though she opted to spend the rest of her adult life with her feet planted firmly on the ground. She'd seen what the lifestyle had done to her father and frankly Beth was wiser for it.

D-22 Rick was from a line of realities where Ricks had not necessarily reproduced, married or both. The D-designated Ricks were sometimes referred to as the Loner Ricks, but were more often called the Deranged Ricks, the Delinquent Ricks, or the Defective Ricks. Without the stabilizing influence of social bonds such as family or friends, D-reality Ricks tended to develop the entire array of psychological and mental maladies associated with prolonged isolation: paranoia, schizophrenia, anxiety and depression and the whole lot. These Ricks were not as obviously weird as Ricks from the advanced-alphabet dimensions, like the JX’s or the Beta-Nineteens or the aggressively anti-social F-Ricks (also called the Fuck You Ricks). The D-Ricks were, instead, normal and common in appearance and manners, but often came off like ticking time bombs the second their various mental instabilities came to light. Overall Ricks were a very specific type of sociopath all across the spectrum, so it took a very wide swath of deviance for even other Ricks to consider one of their own, crazy.

D-22 was neither of these things. Not that he had submitted himself to a battery of tests, but based on all experiential evidence he was fairly certain he was not mentally ill. His life was not a series of failures, he was not addicted to anything worse than alcohol, and all things considered his current lifestyle was pretty tame. Boring, in fact.

Marriage was a bullet Rick dodged early on, but he ended up taking on a different kind of life sentence: he became a single father. Raising Beth had been a hairy first experience fraught with the usual dangers of child rearing, but with an added dash of alien space battles and exposure to every intergalactic felony in print. Yet despite the unique trauma Beth turned out fine, though she opted to spend the rest of her adult life with her feet planted firmly on the ground. She'd seen what the lifestyle had done to her father and frankly Beth was wiser for it.

Fatherhood really wasn't in a Rick's top skillset, but this one hadn’t done a bad job. There weren’t many Ricks who had opted to stay with their Beth or marriage or any variant thereof, but those who did usually turned out okay. D-22 was not on par with that one guy they called Dad Rick, who was overly generous with tiresome dad jokes and obsessed with golf, nor was D-22 as bad as… well, every other Rick.

That left D-22 hovering somewhere in the middle of the pack, neither interesting enough to garner attention or bad enough to be avoided even by other Ricks. Being invisible suited him just fine.

As such, Beth barely noticed the faint zwop of a green portal opening up in the living room behind her while she unpacked groceries in the kitchen. It was a sound that she had grown so accustomed to that it hardly registered anymore. It wasn’t until she turned around with a glass of wine in one hand and a bushel of celery in the other that she realized the shadow in the living room was actually a person, so she balked in surprise.

“Oh! Dad!” she gasped, eyes wide. “Yeesh, you startled me! Where’ve you been all day?”

“Nowhere,” Rick replied, monotone. He pocketed the portal gun as he approached the kitchen counter separating the two rooms. “You’re home early.”

“Deb owes me a night shift, so I’m taking tonight off to actually cook dinner,” said Beth with a grin. She hefted up the celery in one hand. “I’m glad you’re home, I was kinda hoping we could… y’know, sit down and have a nice chat and enjoy a meal together.”

“What, doesn’t breakfast count?” Rick pulled up a barstool and slouched onto it, elbows on the counter. 

Off to one side, something clickclickclicked onto the kitchen linoleum.

“I’m always in such a rush to head to work,” Beth sighed as she leaned forward to set her glass of wine down onto the counter. Celery in hand, she turned back around to continue debagging the groceries. “I wanna know how your day went!”

“Un-unremarkable,” Rick muttered. He eyed the glass of wine that Beth had set down. Red, probably Merlot. Lipstick print, also red. Beth liked red.

“Aw dad, there’s gotta be more to retirement than portalling down to the corner store,” Beth said in slightly whingey tones. “Besides, you’re too young to be retired.”

“I’d have to have a job to actually be retired from it,” Rick pointed out.

“I guess that’s true,” Beth mused, gathering up the plastic shopping bags to stuff them into the cupboard basket under the sink. However, upon backing up she stumbled on something weirdly soft but solid, and for the second time that day she startled with a yelp.

“What the-- oh my GOD,” she breathed, eyes wide as she looked down.

Meanwhile, Rick had been staring off into space and drooling slightly when the sound of Beth squealing caused him to snap back to reality. “Huh, what?” he snorted with a slurp.

Beth was nowhere in sight. Rick had to stand up from his barstool to peer over the counter, where his daughter was now crouched on the floor with an armful of--

“What the hell? How’d that get in here?” Rick immediately scowled and began marching around the counter to get into the kitchen.

At the sound of Rick’s voice, the corgi licking Beth’s face suddenly tensed and scrabbled away from Beth to lurk behind her back instead, its windsail ears pressed flat against its head, eyes huge and showing whites.

“Awww, dad, you didn’t tell me you got a dog!” Beth laughed, turning to kneel and and wrap her arms around the little dog. “He’s just a puppy! Look at hiiiiiim…!” 

The corgi’s ears popped back up again as Beth nuzzled its face. Bright little black eyes gazed imploringly up at Rick.

Rick towered over the both of them. “I’m taking it back,” he growled.

“Aww dad, no! I think this is a great idea!”

“What? What idea?”

“You getting a dog! Seriously dad, having an animal companion around will lower your blood pressure, and it’ll be less lonely for you while I’m away at work all day…”

“I-I-I’m not lonely!” Rick blurted out. His brow lofted in defensive outrage, like the crest of an offended cockatoo. “I’ve got-- got plenty of stuff to occupy me day in and day out, I-I-I don’t need some-some kinda, kinda third wheel hanging off my arm and-and dragging me down--”

“Dad.” Beth’s scruffling hands went still and settled for slow, smoothing strokes along the grain of the dog’s back. “Please. Do it for me…?”

Rick resisted. He tried staring at everything else but Beth -- the fridge, the floor, the corner of the wall where the moulding was slightly crooked at the joint -- but there was no escaping the plaintive gaze of his little girl, crouched on the kitchen floor with the puppy in her arms.

_Daddy, look what followed me home…! Can we keep him?_

Rick’s scowl hardened.

_Pleeeeeease…?_

His eyebrow quavered.

The puppy joined forces with Beth, intensifying the pleading with its own huge-eyed, liquid stare.

Beth’s bow-like lips flattened slightly into a worried line. “Your heart, dad. I’d worry less if you had a dog to keep an eye on you while I’m away.”

At that, the muscles in Rick’s jaw tensed briefly. Oh, she was gonna play _that card_ , was she?

“Yeah, like Morty here is gonna know what to do the next time I go into cardiac arrest. I don’t think so,” he said firmly.

Beth’s eyes widened. “Awww, you already named him? That is so adorable!” She gathered the dog up into her arms and lifted it up off the floor.

“I’m taking him back to the Citadel,” Rick snapped, but the bite of his tone had little effect on Beth.

“Who’s a good boy, Morty? Who’s a good boy?” Beth wheedled as she set the dog onto the counter. Morty of course, waggled his tail-less rump with the same enthusiasm as his other end, which was licking Beth’s face again.

“Beth,” Rick muttered.

“Aww you’re a good boy! Yes you are!” Beth cooed.

“Beeeeeth.”

Undaunted, Beth then held the puppy out to Rick. “Say hi to grandpa, Morty!” she beamed.

“Beth, no.” Rick leaned back away from the wagging tongue and huffing breath.

“Beth yes.” Beth’s sunny demeanour suddenly gleamed with an edge. “We’re keeping the dog, dad. He’s going to be your little friend. Now go play with him while I make dinner, okay?”

Living in the same household with his daughter for some thirty-odd years had come with a certain amount of dominating tension, Rick had to admit. Like himself, Beth was very much an alpha personality who did exactly as she liked when she put her mind to it, though Rick would be the last to admit that she was better at getting her way than he was. Whereas Rick was more likely to just drop everything and walk away, Beth gripped onto the reins even tighter and straightened out whatever bitch wasn’t breaking to the bit, metaphorically speaking.

With wooden stoicism, Rick reached out and slid his hands under the dog’s arms so that Beth could release him, and once Beth turned away again, Rick bent down stiffly to set the puppy back down onto the floor.

“Be good, _Morty_ , or there’ll be a stewpot with your name on it,” he growled at the dog.

Morty’s large ears folded back again, but this time he didn’t whine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No idea what chapter 3 is gonna entail. Any requests?


End file.
